Shades
by ArchFaith
Summary: On a dark, rainy night, Strike finds himself alone. But for what reason? What was troubling him? UPDATED AT LAST So now what are Strike and Hirokun gonna do? Just pretend they didn't do what they did in the past...or....Ch. 5 and Epilogue. RR plz!
1. Take 1: Another Night

Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.

Note: Strike and Hiro-kun may seem OOC here, but for a good reason. While I was waiting for to pull itself together, I managed to start writing this fic. I put a lot of thought into this and I hope you like it.

Note: Maybe the rating on this should be NC-17, but I've decided to keep it R. This is my first atttempt at writing a 'gritty' story like this. I hope you consider it in good taste. If you don't, tell me!

SHADES

Take 1: Another Night

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

"Shit."

A single syllable echoed through the blue haze that covered the city of Tokyo. It almost always rained in Tokyo this time of year; a misty, indigo blanket of water, cascading down to pound the streets angrily.

It was late. A time when all good, decent folks were asleep in their beds, dreaming of a sunny morning.

Decent, that is.

Strike folded his arms his chest, in a vain attempt to keep warm. His thin tank and pants did nothing to ease the stormy fury. The wind was howling, blowing the freezing rain into his face. _Dammit_, he thought grimly.

He noted his surroundings. Under a streetlamp, standing on the corner of the road. Just standing there.

_What the hell am I doin' out here?_ Strike thought to himself.

If there was an answer, he could not—or did not—want to recall.

The light burning from the lamp above him suddenly sputtered and shattered, extinguishing his only light source. Strike looked up and scowled. Oh well. No use waiting around for nothing.

Sneakered feet hit the wet cement as Strike made his way down the road. Judging from the buildings, he could tell it was downtown. Usually, on a Saturday night, there were plenty of clubs and bars open late. But not tonight. Too rainy, too windy for anyone to have an enjoyable time.

It was dark enough, yet Strike kept his glasses on. He was never seen without them. In fact, no one was sure what color his eyes really sure. Not even Kitty-N, his girlfriend and confidante, knew. It was just one of those things you could never question...

But now, Strike considered taking them off. It was way too dark to see anything, including the sidewalk he was walking on. Not good, not good. Any time, rival gangs could jump down on him and leave him for dead...or worse...

Hmm. Well...one club was still open. Strike neared towards the bright neon sign suspended above the entrance.

DISCO FASHION

Oh yeah. Those 70's freaks could have a good time any night.

Wisely deciding to keep his distance, Strike stood across the street from the club, observing. Inside, sounds of partying and excitement could be heard. From the upper floor, low toned squeals emanated. It was a typical place, with a twist.

_So what am I doin' here?_ Strike asked himself again. _Am I lookin' for somethin'?_

As if in answer, the door to the Disco Fashion burst open.

-

The Disco Fashion was a wild place to party. Many of its regulars hadn't even been born when bellbottoms were popular. Yet they all felt a special attachment to the particular decade...one of them in particular...

"Uh, uh, uh, uh, Playboy..."

"Hiro-kun! Hiro-kun!"

The dance floor had been cleared for a young man in a white disco suit, his brown hair slicked back, a comb in his pocket, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He let out a puff of smoke and smiled.

Ever since he moved to Japan three years ago, Hiro had been the star of the Disco Fashion. Ever since people first laid eyes on him, they knew he'd be somethin' big.

Hiro smoothed out his suit and began to dance. When he danced, the whole world stopped for him. Everything was about him, everything revolved around him. That was what he thought, anyway.

As his song finished up, dozens of girls rushed up to him, screaming his name. Hiro quickly sidled past them, trying not to lose his composure. Despite his reputation, he was...well...shy around women. That's right. Shy.

Hiro made a mad rush to the door, bent on escaping from the obsessed women who followed him. Damn, there had never been so many of them...the other couple of nights, only about forty or fifty. This night there seemed to be more than a hundred, all careening towards him...

"Ah!" Hiro grabbed his umbrella and flew out the door, the girls on his heels. Surrounding him, they smiled.

"Oh Hiro-kun, it's cold outside! Why don't you come back to my place to warm up?" one girl with a black afro asked.

"No, he's all mine! I'll be his Dancing Queen!" another one in a peasant blouse stated.

_Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick_, Hiro thought. He faked his charming grin. "Now, girls, I'm tired now. All that dancing, ya know...I've gotta be going."

The girls responded by crowding around him. Hiro's face grew red. "C'mon, now, I have to go..."

As the women engulfed him, two gunshots rang through the air.

-

Strike stood in the rain, his revolver in one hand, a stolen rifle in the other. The girls screamed at the sight of a possible murderer, scattering in all directions, leaving their Dancing Hero behind.

Hiro, left in a puddle on the floor, quickly rose to his feet and grabbed his umbrella. He squinted into the darkness, identifying the figure who had saved him. "Strike?"

Strike calmly put his guns into his belt and cocked his head.

"Whaddya doin' out here?" Hiro asked, cautiously approaching the malicious-looking man.

Strike scowled. "The hell you care, fag."

Hiro frowned. "Hey! You don't talk to me like that! I'm the greatest dancer around...Treat me with some respect!"

Strike stuck his hands in his pockets. "An asshole like you don't deserve any respect."

Hiro, thoroughly insulted, turned around. "I don't have time to be talking to the likes of you," he said rather snobbishly. He walked off down the sidewalk, leaving Strike cold, wet, and wondering why.

_Same ol' Hiro. He's never gonna change._

Strike resumed his walking, deciding to simply follow Hiro and see if he could kill the guy before he got to his apartment. The wind whipped through his wet dreads, chilling him to the bone. He could see Hiro walking down the road, his umbrella shielding him from the rain. Poor guy probably didn't know Strike was following him. _Heheheh._

Strike let his gaze wander down to his frostbitten feet for a moment. Looking up again, he realized he had lost sight of Hiro. "Dammit!" he cursed. He pounded his fist into the side of a brick building, causing several cracks to break.

Preparing to go back down the main road, Strike turned around....to see Hiro standing behind him, so silent he could've been dead.

"Yah!" Strike jumped at the sight of the vain one. "Where the hell did you come from?!"

Hiro's hand automatically (and involuntarily, I must add), reached out to gently brush against Strike's chest.

"Why you—" Strike was unable to continue, surprised by the warmth of Hiro's fingers.

Hiro felt the damp fabric between his fingers. "Ya know, you're gonna catch pneumonia if ya stay out here wearing only that," he scolded.

"Yeah? What do you care?" Strike replied rudely, batting Hiro's hand away.

"I can tell somethin's wrong with you," Hiro said softly. "C'mon, ya can't hide it. Ya seem different to me, somehow."

Strike looked Hiro in the eye. He had noticed. "So what if I'm diff'rent?"

Hiro sighed. "Listen, why don't ya come back to my place?"

"Why should I?"

"Suit yourself," Hiro answered, turning.

"Now wait just a minute...I guess I'll come. I need somebody to talk to..." Strike's voice trailed, not wanting to give out any more information.

"Then...let's go."

TBC I hope you like it so far!!


	2. Take 2: Backlashes

Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.

Note: Strike and Hiro-kun may seem OOC here, but for a good reason.

Special Note: If you're having a hard time imagining Hiro's computer system, think a toned-down version of Baofu's Lair in Persona 2! o

VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: I realize that some of the things I write may upset or disturb some readers, but they are not my opinions! I'm just writing what I think the character would say. As for their actions, hey, it's a harsh world. People really do this stuff, I'm just tryin' to write a good story...

SHADES

Take 2: Backlashes

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

They walked along hurriedly, Hiro trying to keep the umbrella above both their heads. They walked close together, for warmth, but not for affection. No love had ever been lost between these two; they were just too different. Occaisonal cursing was their only communication, and that was while they were dancing. In terms of friendship though, they were as different as Heaven and Hell. Although who was Heaven and who was Hell, that could not be answered.

_What am I doin', invitin' him up?_ Hiro thought. _I must be goin' outta my mind._

He glanced over at Strike, whose face appeared to be looking straight ahead. But Strike had an advantage. You could never tell exactly what he was looking at. The wall of black plastic was a cover; his head could be turned one way, but he could be looking another.

And right then, he had been looking at Hiro out of the corner of his eye.

After what seemed like a few minutes, they reached a tall brick building with many windows. Hiro gestured to it; Strike nodded.

Walking inside, they found the elevator broken. Their legs ached as they ascended eight flights of stairs to the top floor, where Hiro lived. Down the hall, if you had been watching, you would have seen two young men trudging down, both soaked, even after Hiro's attempts to keep them dry. Strike's ponytail was gone, leaving a mass of tangled dreads hanging down his back. Hiro's usually perfect hair had lost its shape, despite all the moose, spray, and gel it was subjected to every Saturday. The curl had gone completely out of it.

Hiro opened the door to his room and switched on the light. "Close the door after you," he called to Strike, who eyed the tiny dwelling.

"Damn! Never knew your crib was dis small!" he commented, noting that the room was about as big as a large bathroom.

"Yeah, well. I just wanna be alone," Hiro replied ominously. He went over to a stack of drawers and pulled out a white tank and blue jeans. "I'm gonna change," he announced, stepping into the closet-sized bathroom.

Strike sat down on Hiro's bed, not being able to note any other place to rest. One wall was covered with posters of Hiro; a stack of drawers and boxes decorated the other. But the most amazing thing in the room was a gigantic computer system set up in the corner. The monitor was the latest version; the keyboard was brand new. On shelves above the PC, several devices lay, looking much like speakers and VCRs, along with a dismantled Playstation2. Weird-looking contraptions that seemed to be mutilated alarm clocks and souped-up CD players rounded out the sight.

Strike was gazing at it, half-interested, when Hiro emerged. He looked different; not because he had changed his clothes, but because of his hair. No one had ever seen Hiro with his hair uncombed; but when it was, it came down past his ears, not quite as long as Heat's, but close.

"Like my PC, huh?" he asked, the pride in his voice swelling. "Latest model. Ain't she beautiful?"

"Yeah," Strike replied sarcastically. "Real nice."

His eyes were still fixed on the weird gadgets when a gray kimono was thrown onto his lap. "What's dis?"

"Put it on," Hiro replied.

"You kiddin'? I ain't wearin' somethin' you wore! No telling what you coulda been doin' in it..."

"Fine then. Stay wet, but don't sit on my bed. You can just stand."

Strike sighed and went into the bathroom.

Hiro switched the computer on and began typing. He had always been good with computers; ever since he was a kid, he loved putting them together and taking them apart. With the use of high-tech electronics, he could hack into any system he wanted; the government systems of all major countries, top secret telephone wires, army missile directions, cables to the International Space Station; you name it, he's been there.

Strike emerged from the bathroom, the kimono gathered loosely around his waist. His wet clothes were rolled up in a ball and placed in one of the storage boxes, to be retrieved later. Under the kimono, Strike kept his weapons concealed from view. He wouldn't have to use them here, but he didn't want that idiot getting a hold of them.

He quietly resumed his place on the bed, watching with reluctant attention as Hiro's fingers danced over the keyboard. "So, whaddya doin'?" he asked.

"Hacking," was the short answer.

"Where to?"

"One of the ganster lines. They gotta job tomorrow at the Fourth National Bank. I've gotta access the bank's supercomputer and disable its censors."

"You do that?" Strike asked, surprised. He had an accomplice like that; a master hacker who disabled lines and was given 25 of the stolen profit. Strike had never actually seen him, but knew that he was reliable.

"Yeah, I've been doin' it for a while," Hiro answered. As he spoke, a staticky noise arose from a walkie-talkie that had been lying on the floor.

"Hiro?! You in there?! I need help! I can't find the guy I'm supposed to get. Can ya track him down for me?" It was clearly a woman's voice, deep and melodious. It was familiar...

Hiro snatched the walkie-talkie up. "I'm on it, Pinks," he replied into it. He clicked the mouse several times, causing a new screen to come up. A red target settled inside one of the rectangular boxes on the screen. "Pinky? He's on the third floor, Room...202, it says. He's alone. Got it? Right, good luck." He let the walkie-talkie drop to the floor as he calmly resumed the back job.

Strike looked on, amazed. "That was...Pinky?!" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. We work together sometimes. I track down the victim, she takes him out." Hiro smiled wickedly. "I'm worse than you think."

Strike said nothing. Never, in the time he had known Hiro, would he have guessed that the guy was capable of doing such underhanded deeds. He found himself smiling. "Nah, actually, now I'm beginnin' ta think there's more to ya than meets the eye."

He said nothing more as Hiro continued to work black magic in front of him. His eyes casually wandered to a piece of red fabric that lay on the ground. "What's dis?" he asked, picking it up.

"That? Oh, Shorty came up to visit me last night," Hiro answered coolly, his eyes glued to the screen.

"For real? Thought you was shy around women."

"We're good friends. I think she can relate to me."

How Hiro could relate to an annoying brat was something that boggled Strike's mind.

_Hmm...well, what do we got here?_

"Good friends, huh? The evidence suggests otherwise," Strike stated, his eyes lingering on a small red box that lay on the floor.

Hiro followed Strike's stare and turned bright red. He quickly scooped up the box and dumped it into the trash can. Strike grinned. "Ain't she a little too young for that?"

Hiro plopped back down into his computer chair. "What I do is none of your business," he replied, his voice unwelcoming and hostile.

"I'm just sayin'." Strike was clearly enjoying torturing Hiro about it. "I mean, wit all those girls back at da club, you fuck that little pigtailed slut—"

"Will you shut the hell up?!" Hiro demanded, his chair swiveling around to show the scowl on his face. "Hey, at least she's better that that cat bitch you drag around—"

"Kitty ain't like dat! Take dat back, you mother-fucking—"

"I don't need to take it back! Know why? 'Cause of all this stuff she puts on the Internet! You should see! And ya thought your little kitty was all innocent—"

"Oh yeah?! Show me!"

Hiro smiled and clicked several buttons. The bank map faded away to reveal one of the dirtiest porn sites Strike had ever seen. And on the front page, a picture of...

"Kitty?! What the hell?!"

"Told ya," Hiro said smugly. "Everybody knows about it 'cept you. Gee, I woulda thought you'd be the first one to know, considering you get her ready for it before she poses..."

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

Strike whipped out his guns and sent a spray of bullets in Hiro's direction. Hiro quickly ducked, the bullets bouncing off his bulletproof monitor and onto the floor, harmlessly.

The guns clicked. And clicked again. One more time. No ammo left. He had only loaded it for one round. Strike hurled the guns to the floor in exasperation. His piercing eyes turned back to Hiro, who was huddling on the floor next to his computer, genuinely scared for his life.

"Goddammit!" he yelled, sinking to the floor. "I don't believe any of dis is happ'nin' to me! First last night, now dis...what am I gonna do?!"

He put his face in his hands and started sobbing.

Hiro was now greatly disturbed. Should he call the cops or an insane asylum? Strike...crying?! _What the fuck..._

_Is that really Strike at all? Maybe it's not...but it has to be! What's wrong with him? Why's he actin' like this? This isn't the Strike I know...this isn't the Strike anybody knows..._

Hiro let Strike cry for a moment, waiting to see if he truly calmed down. He lay on the floor, sobbing wildly, letting out an occaisonal groan. When he was sure it was safe, Hiro crawled over to Strike and helped him sit up. "Listen, man...I'm sorry. It was all my fault," Hiro whispered. "Now don't be cryin' like that! You're a guy!"

Strike sighed. "Seems like everyone's turnin' on me now..."

Automatically, but not involuntarily, Strike placed his head on Hiro's shoulder, the top of his thick dreads right under his chin. Hiro almost drew back, but remained, finding the position comfortable.

"What's up with you, Strike?"

"Well, lemme tell ya somethin' that happened last night..."

TBC>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Depressing, isn't it? Hiro-kun and Strike are too out of character, aren't they? Doesn't this story make you wanna take a bath? Review please! But don't tell me to change the atmosphere of the story. There is still a good reason...


	3. Take 3: Strike's Tale

Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.

Note: The third chapter in my "darkfic". YAOI (male x male) warning!

Oh yeah...would any of you like to join my Bust-A-Groove yahoo group? It's dedicated to the couples of BAG. Here's the URL: 

SHADES

Take 3: Strike's Tale

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

They had moved onto the bed, to ease the tension felt between their conflicting souls. Strike was breathing horsely, hyperverntilating from his stress. His head was tucked under Hiro's chin, his forehead pressed against the nape of his neck. Hiro had his arms around Strike, in a tight embrace. The whole situation was bizarre; both were straight, and yet...

_What am I doing? Are my arms actually AROUND Strike? Why is he actin' like this? What does he want to tell me?_ Hiro's mind was abuzz with questions. Questions that he wanted answered. He was still mildly disturbed after Strike's violent episode; he still wasn't sure if the person he was hugging at the moment would suddenly reach for his throat and squeeze...

Strike's brain, unlike Hiro's, was calm and collected, despite the loud gasps that could be heard escaping from his person. _Well, you sure got yo'self into a mess now, Strike,_ he grimly told himself. _Guess I'll have ta tell him now. Ah well. Don't matter._ He sighed. "Hiro, lemme tell ya somethin' that happened last night," he began.

Hiro nodded. "I'm listenin'."

"Okay, so it was like dis..."

-

He remembered it like it happened yesterday; in fact, happened just a few hours earlier. If Strike could've gone back in time and stopped himself from ever attempting the act he attempted that night, he would've. He was stupid that night; a bit drunk too, although it had nothing to do with his decision.

Strike was walking up the street. No rain that night; in fact, it was rather humid. Strike knew exactly where he was going. No wondering why or tryin' to remember. He was goin' ta get somethin'. Somethin' good.

A large yellow skyscraper loomed in front of him. Yes, yellow. It was immediately recognizable as the BAG Coumpound. Ah yes, the Compound. A training center for all dancers accepted into Bust-A-Groove. Built by the citizens of Tokyo for their "Dancing Heroes" at the end of BAG1. Although Hiro-kun had pouted and whined, they were all known as heroes now. Defeated Robo-Z, saved the day...of course the bridge over Tokyo Bay fell apart, but what was that compared to the number of lives that would be spared? Nothin'.

Strike, grinning for no apparent reason, strolled up to the door. It was late. Only one person should be inside. Two once Strike entered. And soon two would become one.

Strike slipped his keycard, long unused, into the slot at the entrance. The door beeped slowly opened for him. He walked in, noting that the reception area had not changed at all.

The lights were still on. They always were, on the first floor. But the rest of the floors were kept unlighted at night. But there was one floor which had light; the 17th. The floor that Strike had just pushed the button to.

It was a glass elevator; he could see the city below as he rose up. The city never sleeps, they say. Lights were still on in various buildings downtown. Drunk men and loose women walked about. The citizens had taken precautions to put the Compound in the "safest" and cheapest area to build.

15, 16, 17. The doors opened. Strike stepped through. He looked up and down the hall, and finally saw the room that the light source emanted from. He hurriedly began walking toward it. Three doors away...two...one..."Yo man! Outta our way!"

A bunch of teenage boys ran past Strike, nearly knockin' him to the ground. "Hey!" Strike called after. "Youse bastards! If you knew who I was, you wouldn't be—"

"Oh, we know who you are!" one of them called back.

"Whaddya doin' back here, now dat you're a has-been?" another one chided.

"Fuck you!" Strike called to the boys, who had disappeared into the elevator. Damn Data be Bops. Were all b-boys like that?

Has-been? Definitely not. He was still Notorious. All the BAG members had found their own niches in life after the competitions had ended. Recently, there had been an annoucement of BAG3. At this, everyone had begun to sharpen up their dance skills once more. Even the newbies from BAG Dance Summit 2001 were looking forward to it. The Compound had seen more action in the last few weeks. It wasn't uncommon to see Hiro giving Galaxy4 a few dance tips on the 6th floor, or Strike himself practicing with Jumbo Max on the 14th. But the Data be Bops usually practiced with...

"Yo Heat! Man, wassup?"

The fiery young man looked up from where he sat on the floor, to see Strike coming towards him. The room was bare, except for a few mats piled in a corner. A red backpack, partially burned, lay on the ground, books and papers spread beneath it. Mirrors made up the walls. You could see yourself from any angle if you looked all around.

Heat slowly stood up. "Hey Strike! Long time no see!" he greeted in his raspy voice. He looked the same as Strike had seen him a few months ago; wearing his old BAG2 shirt and pants, white with flames burning the edges. His red hair hung on either sides of his face, the edges spiked. His brown eyes were unusually dull, though. A tired looking guy.

"Training wit those punks, huh?" Strike casually asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

"Yeah. I dunno why I do it. They're losers. But they ask me ta train 'em. How can I refuse?" Heat smiled and sat back down. "So what brings ya here, tonight, Strike?"

"No reason. I just decided ta drop by and see if anyone was here," Strike answered. Liar, liar. He had known Heat would be up there. Heat was always up there on a Saturday night. "So, what's been happenin'? Seems like a long time since I talked to ya."

"Ah, everythin's good," Heat replied. "Comet and I have been going out for a few months. And I take college classes part time."

"For real? Heat learnin' somethin? Heh, ya must be jokin!"

"Naw, for real. I might be competing in the Sendai 3000 next month too."

"Hey, dat's good news. Racin' again, huh?" Strike smiled. The bland speech was boring; now he'd get to the good parts. "So, you and Comet havin' fun?"

"Fun? Yeah, we're out all da time."

"No, I mean...fun."

Heat blinked. The hell? Strike was asking him if he and Comet had...what had started out as small talk had morphed into this? Why did he wanna know?

Heat scratched his head. "Not yet. We're gonna wait a while," he answered, hoping that would satisfy Notorious.

"Oh, I see," Strike replied, wickedly grinning. "So it's like dat, huh?" Heat had been hoping to change the subject; but once Strike was on it, he was on it. "Comet too shy?"

"Listen Strike, if ya gonna ask about dis stuff than get outta here. I don't wanna answer questions about my personal life."

"I'm just curious, dat's all," Strike replied, going over to Heat and crouching behind him. Curiousity killed the kitty, Kitty-N had always said. But today curiousity would get him something nice.

Heat immediately felt the urge to stand up, but couldn't due to the proximity of Strike's cheek to his own. "Yeah, well ya can stop bein' curious. What I do with Comet ain't none of your business..."

Strike wrapped his arms around Heat's waist, trapping him. Heat flinched, surprised. "What the fuck?! Strike, what're ya doin'?" Heat knew exactly what Strike was doing, but automatically questioned it. "Lemme go!" Heat struggled to be free but failed.

"C'mon, Heat...can lil ol' Comet give ya everythin' ya want?" Strike asked him in a low, tempting voice. "She can make ya happy, but can she give ya real pleasure?"

"Shut up, goddammit!"

Strike was on a roll; he knew he was penetrating Heat's privacy, and most of all, his preferences. Just knead and roll, and the bread would rise if ya put it in the oven.

Heat thrashed about wildly, determined to be free of Strike's grasp. "No! I'm not like that, Strike! I'm straight! Thought you was too..."

Strike's lips stretched in an evil grin. "There are things you don't know 'bout me, Fireboy, that ya wouldn't want to know..." His medium-skinned hand reached for the zipper on Heat's pants. "C'mon, Heat. You know you want me. I've got everythin' ya need. Gimme a shot, I'll be your best..."

Heat managed to free one of his hands. He batted Strike's hand away from him. "You're sick, ya bastard! I love Comet! I'm straight!" Heat gritted his teeth and looked Strike in the eye. "What about Kitty, huh? Don't you love her?"

"Yeah, I love Kitty. But I love you in a different way..." Strike's voice was calm and collected. He grabbed the hem of Heat's shirt and tried to pull it up.

"God, Strike!! Stop it!!!" Heat freed himself from Strike's grasp and crawled a few feet away, next to his burnt backpack. "Leave me alone! I don't want this—"

"Yes you do," Strike answered, going over to him and taking him by the shoulders. "You know you do. Ever since the first day ya saw me, you knew you did. And I knew you did." He chuckled. "C'mon, Heat. No one's lookin'. One-shot, that's all it'll be. No harm done. And I come wit no strings attached. No relationship needed, no nothin'." Strike leaned in closer to Heat's perspiring, wet face. "Say ya'll do it and I won't bother you again."

Heat was disoriented. He found himself being drawn in by Strike's proposition. No strings attached. No catch. Just what he was looking for...yeah...

But...! Comet...sure, she was annoying sometimes, sure, they fought a lot, sure, she was a bit kinky, but she was Comet! Sweet, lovable, caring Comet. She wasn't all that, but they were in love. Real love, not this one-night, no meaning stand Strike was talkin' about.

_So...what should I do? I love Comet...tomorrow I was gonna buy a ring for her...so we could get..._ Heat shut his eyes as he thought of the word, _engaged. But tonight...Strike...Strike, why do you have to be who you are?! You're tempting me so badly! Stop, just stop before I make up my mind!_

Strike could almost taste Heat's undecisiveness. "No worries, Fireboy," he whispered, stroking the bright red hair that framed Heat's face. "Notorious will have you in good hands..."

_Maybe...just this once?_ Heat thought quickly, looking for answer. _Then never again...I...I..._

Heat clutched his chest. Unbeknownst to Strike, and indeed everyone else in the world (even Comet), Heat had always worn a tiny silver cross under his dancing outfit. He had been wearing it on the day of his near-fatal accident...when the car flipped over...and he was trapped under the smoke and flames...the ambulance to the hospital...the surgery...the recovery. During that time, it had never left him. It was his good luck charm, you might say. Now it would help him again...in this awful situation...

"Get off me, you mother-fuckin' bastard!" Heat yelled, hurling Strike off of him. "You're not gettin' me! Now get outta here before I burn you!" Oh, that's right. Heat had totally forgotten his firepower during the confrontation. A blue sliver of flame rested on his hand, threatening the ganster who sat on the floor, unbelieving.

Strike was beyond furious, now. _I offer him dis, he doesn't want it?! I'll teach him...no one says no to Notorious..._

"I'm gettin' what I came for, bitch..."

Strike lunged at Heat and pinned him to the ground. He swung himself on top of him and began to remove Heat's clothing. "Strike! Goddammit, Strike! Now you're gonna rape me?! You're no better than those thugs out on the street! You ain't really Strike!! Even the mean, dirty, angry Strike I know...wouldn't do something like this...!"

The words rang in Strike's ears like the chiming of a bell. _Even the mean...dirty...angry...mean, dirty angry...Strike...mean, dirty angry Strike I know...wouldn't do some thing like this..._

He immediately stood up, affected deeply by Heat's insult. _What...what am I doing?_ he asked himself, thinking about his actions for the first time that night. He looked down at Heat, still sprawled on the floor, clothes ripped, hair messy, an orange flame bursting out of his palm. _...why am I doing this?_ he asked himself. _Do I want Heat so badly...Yes, I do._ Strike closed his eyes for a split second.

Who did he love? The answer he would've said would be Kitty-N.

Who did he want? The answer he wouldn't have said would be Heat.

Ever since...that first day of BAG...Strike had felt an attachment towards the bad-tempered boy. Unrequited love? But it was also unknown to the world, to everyone except himself. Then came little miss Kitty-N, with her fancy life and silly fame, ready to snap up a cute boyfriend. Strike had taken this route; although he had always looked back at the attracting flames which stood behind him, to devour him.

But Heat wanted another. And he had another. Comet. He was completely straight; he would never have Strike, for sure, now...

_Why is it everyone else gets what they want?_

He flew out the door of the room, his sneakered feet hitting the ground hard. He dashed down the stairwell, too distraught to use the elevator. Panting, he reached the ground floor. So angry with himself he nearly tore the glass door off its hinge as he pulled it open.

Running, out into the sidewalk...away from that claustrophobic room, with all its temptations...

_Just keep running. Run till you bleed._

Run...all the way...to downtown...

Stop under a streetlight. Notice that it's starting to rain...

-

Here Strike stopped. His voice abruptly ended, causing the disturbing spell he had cast upon Hiro to fade. Hiro looked up, attentive, wide awake. "Is that what happened?"

"Yeah. Exactly what happened." Despite himself, Strike cracked a smile. "Stupid, huh? That a guy like me would do that."

Hiro's questions had been partially answered; why Strike was there, why he had shown up, his breakdown...but...

Strike had expected some kind of reply; but none came. Hiro could not find the right response to give to him. Sympathy? Empathy? What?

By now, Strike's violet episode was over. He shifted his position, causing Hiro to let go of him. "It's okay if ya don't wanna say nuttin," he whispered softly, hoping Hiro would.

Hiro looked into Strike's face. Depression hung around him, like a city wrapped in the darkest of fog. He reached out his pale hand again, to caress Strike's cheek. Strike found himself unable to pull away...not wanting to pull away...

"Take off ya shades, Strike."

_My shades? He jokin'?_ Strike asked himself. "Damn, I never take off my shades...but..."

Hiro slipped the glasses off. Strike opened his eyes to look into Hiro's dark blues.

Grey.

"Man, I never thought you had grey eyes," Hiro commented. "Brown or blue, maybe. But not grey."

Strike shrugged. "What can I say? No one's, 'cept my family, has ever seen my eyes."

"You hid them that long? Not even Kitty-N?"

"Not even her." Strike grinned, nodding at the computer system. "So, does Shorty know ya do all dis? The whole assassin bit?"

"You think I'd tell her?" Hiro sighed. "She'd blab it to everybody."

"Ya got that right," Strike agreed. They were silent for a while after that. Strike lay his head on his pillow, his now-exposed greys looking up at the ceiling. Hiro's blues were also open, looking out the window at the rain that continued falling outside.

"Hiro-kun?"

It was the first time Strike had ever addressed Hiro with the –kun at the end. Normally it was just "fag", "shithead", or any of the various names he was fond of. But this was the first time had ever used this term, which so many of his groupies were happy to say.

Hiro didn't reply. Strike realized that he was asleep. Tonight he hadn't combed his hair for five hours straight, a record time. His normally poofy hair was now partially spiked, a style which Strike realized was his natural look. His eyes were shut, and he breathed softly, his chest rising in and out.

"Yeah, well. Go ta sleep, den, Playboy," Strike whispered, turning over. "Hmm, maybe I should go now—"

"Don't." A slightly accented voice whispered. "I....need to talk to you tomorrow..."

"Fine, den. I won't," Strike promised. "I'll stay."

He rolled over so that they faced each other. The rain banged on the window outside, howling, furious that it would not be let in. The two boys ignored it and sank into silent, dreamless slumber.

TBC>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"But wait! Strike would never do that to Heat!"

Actually, if ya think about it, he might. Notorious is like that, ya know!!!

Anyways, stay tuned for Chapter 4...this time, Strike learns more about Hiro-kun...


	4. Take 4: Hiro's Tale

Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing. YAOI

Note: This chapter may upset people even more than before. This is a storyline my friend and I came up with. So sit back and enjoy...

_Italics, in this chapter, indicates both thoughts and translations of Spanish, Italian, and Japanese._ In the asylum scene it indicates Hiro placing other words before the ones that should be said. It's kinda hard to explain...

SHADES

Take 4: Hiro's Tale

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

Strike's world was a swirl of grey and blue, with misty purple rainbows streaking across the skies. They played with his emotions, sifted through his dreams...Kitty-N's kisses drifted through his head, the same time as Heat's murderous eyes. But there was one more thing...something distant...something strangely open and understanding...?

Strike slowly opened his eyes. It was daylight, he could tell. He glanced at the clock on the side of the bed. 3:15. Ha, slept late. He still remembered the events of the previous night...and what he tried to do with Heat...and...

He closed his eyes and turned over, expecting to find Hiro lying next to him. To his surprise, Hiro wasn't there. "Huh?" He asked out loud, looking at the rumpled sheets and pillows. "Hiro?"

No answer.

Where had he gone? Strike rose from the bed, the grey kimono hanging limply off his shoulder. The hell? Had he gone out? But to where? Hiro was a shut-in, a modern-day hermit. The only time he went out was Saturday night. It was Sunday morning...

Sunday afternoon. Strike shuddered. If he had been back with his family, more than 3,000 miles away in San Antonio, they'd be attending mass. It was a whole different world he had come from. And a whole different world he had created for himself.

Strike hadn't been paying attention; he almost stepped on Hiro, who was on the floor. Strike blinked. "Hey? Whaddya doin' down there?"

His eyes widened as he looked at Hiro's pale form. He was curled up in a fetal position, clutching his legs. His skin looked very white all of a sudden; all the color had gone outta him. His clothes clung to his skin; his damp hair stuck to the back of his neck. He was sweating, and breathing hoarsely.

"The hell?" Strike exclaimed, instantly concerning. He knelt down and uncurled Hiro, raising him up. "What happened to you?"

"Mmmmm," Hiro moaned, his head rolling on Strike's shoulder. "Pain...oh, God, no...Strike...grey...last night...don't...Kitty?"

Strike looked into Hiro's glazed eyes. Something was very wrong.

"Whaddya tryin' to say?" he asked, shaking him. "What's wrong with you?"

"Strike...steel...orange...alphabet...me...this is what you're supposed to do...box, bought it last week, gotta get some more..."

"Are you insane or somethin?" Strike thundered in disbelief, looking at the once haughty Playboy.

Hiro sat up suddenly. His eyes partially open, he turned to Strike with a look that chilled Strike to the bone. And very few things did that...very. None, in fact.

"Insane? That's what...they said..."

He fell back into Strike's arms, and the situation of last night was reversed. Hiro's head was tucked under Strike's head, his brown spikes quivering. Strike uncomfortably held Hiro in his arms; he had liked it when Hiro held him like that, but found that the position was indeed awkward.

Hiro opened his mouth. What tumbled out was another language.

"Spiacente, amore. Ciò accade a volte me...che dovreste ora andare. Devo prego essere solo..."

"Huh?" Strike asked, looking closely at the once "Dancing Hero". He was obviously not in tune with where he was. "Uh, Hiro...this is Japan, remember? Could youse at least speak English...or maybe Japanese?" Strike was fluent in three languages—English, Japanese, and Spanish. Spanish for home, English to get around, and Japanese to be in BAG.

But Italian? Hmmm...Spanish and Italian are related...he had once taken an Italian course in high school, before he dropped out...so...

"Tu estás embromando? Licencia tu tienes gusto de esto? Ninguna manera!"

Hiro blinked. Was he speaking Spanish? It was hard to tell. Hiro understood a bit of Spanish, actually...one of the gangsters he worked for spoke it constantly. And he had taken a Spanish course in high school...before he was sent away...

"Indennità allora. Potete rimanere. Ora indovino che desidererete conoscere che cosa sono errate con me, no? L' approvazione allora...I vi dirà esattamente che cosa è errato con me."

_Okay then. Now I guess you wanna know what's wrong with me, huh? Okay then...I'll tell you exactly what's wrong with me._

Strike nodded. "Estoy escuchando." _I'm listening._

Hiro sighed and leaned his head back. "La maledizione, questa è in modo da dire duro...è come questa. Da quando ero giovane, la gente lo ha chiamato instabile. Non ero mai un capretto normale. Per concludere, quando ero sedici, i miei genitori non potrebbero prenderli più. lo hanno messo via...lo hanno bloccato su...ed hanno gettato via il chiave..."

_Damn, this is so hard to say...but it's like this. Ever since I was little, people've called me unstable. I was never a normal kid. Finally, when I was sixteen, my parents couldn't take it anymore. They...put me away...locked me up...and threw away the key..._

"Horatio caro! Tempo per il vostro bagno!!"

Lying on a cold stone floor. A cold black floor. A floor.

The room was tall and small at the same time. The barred windows, at the very top of the room, must have been at least fifty feet up. The floor was at the bottom of hell, decorated with hard black padding. Not much to say about the place...but about the personage who inhabited it...now that was something.

Hiro slowly raised his head from where he lay, immobile on the padding. His naturally spiked brown hair reflected his dull blue eyes. He lay in a straitjacket, having put up a rough fight with the nurses that day. He wasn't so usually rebellious...usually he was just mild and calm...that is, if you gave him his medication.

"Treat...Mama...Papa...kill...you...icons...cables...disco...whispers...no, Hiro, don't...voices...normal?"

"Hiro caro?" He heard a voice outside. One of those damn nurses. He didn't want to go outside and he didn't want to take a bath. But he had to do what THEY desired. Or else...

He could hear the doorknob being turned...he could picture the door opening, the people coming in to give him a "bath", being handled roughly, tossed in and out, abused...sometimes even...what was the word...vio...vio...violate...?

But the door did not open. Whether it was a bi-product of his fucked-up mind he would never know. Instead he heard more voices, this time, speaking much differently...

"Anna! Anna! Get ready!! The ambassador from Japan is visiting us today!!"

"Are you serious? Why would he want to visit here?"

"The ambassador requested that he wanted to see how mentally disabled health care hospitals are run. They sent him to us..."

"Is the government trying to put us out of business? Send him to a dump like this?"

_How true,_ Hiro thought, closing his eyes. Sometimes, during those momentary lapses back into sanity, he would remind himself of what kind of a place he was sent to. A dump. His parents could've at least tried to take care of him...but no...

He heard the nurses quickly shut their mouths. Footsteps came down the hall outside his room. Four pairs of feet...or were they hooves?

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Tomohura! We welcome you to the Malucci Behavioral

_prison_

Center! We are honored to have you visiting us!" a female voice exclaimed. He heard footsteps by the door. Pairs of four feet, he could tell...crazy yes, but still instinctive...

"Thank you, Madam," a male voice responded in broken Italian. "I am honored to be here."

"As you can see, this hospital is the best in all of Italy!! We do our best to keep the patients here become the most productive

_pieces of shit_

they can ever be!" the nurse went on, exaggerating.

"So I can see," the male voice responded. "I'm very interested in seeing how you treat your patients. So tell me...what is the nature of your patients' illnesses?"

Hiro was beginning to get interested...maybe...maybe...if he got this ambassador to notice him...and everyone else in this stinking place...something could be done about it? Maybe...he could be in a nice place? Treated well? _No, not that, Hiro. Never ever ever. You'll never escape from this hell..._

He heard a little voice say something in another language. "Chichi, kono tokoro kitanai desu..."

_Daddy, this place is dirty..._

It was Japanese. Hiro knew some of it; he had taken an online computer course in it. He was almost fluent—of course, everyone else thought he was foolish—"Horatio, what are you going to do, learning Japanese? And where will you ever use it? Are you planning on going to Japan?"—Ha, they didn't know. He needed the Internet to keep him alive...without it, he could wither away and die...like a broken adaptor plug...

_Crazy, crazy boy..._

It was a little girl's voice who had spoken. A voice of five or six; or even a little younger. A sweet voice; a pure voice; not like his voice, cold and defiled.

There was an audible hush. "Hush, darling," a woman's voice said in Japanese. It was probably her mother, the ambassador's wife. Hiro could almost imagine her; strong and beautiful, yet...not a very good mother.

He could picture embarrassment on the ambassador's face. He heard the nurse's voice: "Ah, Mr. Ambassador, would you like to take a tour of our fine

_hellhole_

facility?"

"Yes, of course," the ambassador replied nobly. _You're glad to get outta here, aren't ya? Well, I have to stay. Just go along, with your little woman and your kid, take a tour of hell and see if you don't wanna stay._

The footsteps outside began walking past his room. The nurse and the ambassador had gone. But...

"Sakuya!! Where do you think you are, young lady? You must keep your mouth shut at all times! You're supposed to be a diplomatic young lady!"

"But Mother, it's scary here!"

He could picture a sadistic smile on Mother's face. "You're scared, huh? Well...I'll just leave you here for now. When your father and I are finished with the tour, I'll come back for you."

Picture the girl's expression. "No! Don't leave me here!"

Hear the mother's footsteps echoing down the hall.

Listen to the girl slump against the door of his room and begin to sob quietly. "Don't cry now..."

"Who's there? Who are you?"

"My name is Horatio...but everyone calls me Hiro."

"My name is Sakuya. Are you in this room?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what? Can't you come out?"

"No."

"Why?"

"..."

"How come you're in there?"

"People say...I'm nuts..."

"Are you?"

"I guess so. Or I wouldn't be in here, would I?"

"I'm five!"

"....I'm thirteen."

"That's really old."

_Strange little girl,_ Hiro thought. _If only I could get outta here...then I could do something really bad to her...like what they did to me._

"I like you, Sakuya. I wish I could see you."

"Me too. What do you look like?"

"I have brown hair and blue eyes..."

This simple interchange continued for more than half an hour. This little girl...she was so gullible...if only he could get to her...

Footsteps again. Damn noises...like the sounds a toaster makes when it's dropped into a bath tub full of water...like—

"There you are, Sakuya. Did you have fun by yourself?" Mother asked the girl.

"I wasn't by myself! I was talking to Hiro!" Sakuya answered. He could picture her pointing to the door. _Let me out, little girl. You have no idea what I'd do to you._

"Oh...really. Well then, come along."

"Bye Hiro!" He choose not to answer. She was being led away by her mother down the cold steps, down the hall, out the door, probably out to a car...what were all those things anyway? _I don't remember._

_But you, little one, you got out. So easy. Your life, I mean. Your parents have you all set up. You're their little doll. Well how about me? What about me? What do I get? Do I get anything?_

_I swear...when I'm outta here, I'll get you, little Sakuya. Take away everything that was ever important. Take away your innocence._

"Horatio caro!"

_Don't touch me!! Don't hurt me...please? I...I..._

He passed out on the padded floor, straitjacket restricting his movements. A couple of the snakes gathered around him, snickering. "He's a big boy, isn't he?"

"Aw, feeling bad? Don't worry...we'll treat you nicely..."

"Dammit...get away from me...please! I'll do anything you want me to! Just keep away from me! Please...!"

His cries were unheard. As they always were.

He lay miserably on the floor, too beat up to cry. He closed his eyes. _Maybe...if I act like I'm not like I am...damn, that made no sense...I've gotta be okay again...I've gotta get out of here...I just have to...I'm gonna go find Sakuya...and..._

He laughed sadistically, his voice echoing through the halls of the asylum.

-

Hiro had broken out of Strike's embrace and now knelt in another corner of the room, coughing.

Strike was incredulous. "You've gotta be kiddin' me!" he exclaimed, too shocked to speak in Spanish. You?! Crazy?! Dat can't be true...? You're..not like dat..."

Hiro laughed bitterly. "Oh? I was. Very crazy, in fact. You wouldn't wanna know what I did to get myself kicked in there."

"But..." Strike couldn't believe it. This was so uncharacteristic of him? Playboy? Used to be...like that? And...the stuff that was done to him...it was like what he almost did to Heat...

He sat in silence for a while, letting the shock settle in. He finally ventured, "How'd you get out?"

"Weren't you listening? I acted normal. I acted like I was sane. They thought I could finally live in the outside world again. I was released...my parents weren't really happy to see me. I moved to Japan a few years later..."

"And you joined Bust-A-Groove."

Hiro smiled. "No one else would know about me, would they? That's why. Everything about me...the suit, the hair, the conceit...that's just me trying to forget about what happened..."

"So...you're still insane?'

"I guess. An insane person acting normal. It takes will power to do that...but what you saw back there...that's what my mind is like on the inside."

Strike couldn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He was still in partial shock. Finally, he managed to utter, "Did ya ever find that little girl?"

Hiro smirked. "Yeah, I found her. That obsession I had...to find her...was the reason I moved to Japan in the first place."

"What did ya do when ya found her?"

Hiro chose not to answer.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door to the apartment.

"Huh?" Strike asked, turning to the door. "Who's dat?"

"Why don't ya open it and see?" Hiro answered grimly.

At any time, Strike would have never taken orders from someone else. But today...he swiftly rose and cracked open the door. "Who's there?"

It was a girl wearing a blue leather miniskirt. She donned a tight black tank top, with matching boots that came up to her knees. Her hair was tied in a French bun, with tiny braids holding it together. On her shoulder hung a pink bag, with a mildly obvious bulge poking out of it. Her violet eyes reflected surprise.

"Uh...hey Strike..."

"Sh—Shorty?! Uh, whaddya doin' here?" She looked awfully grown up for thirteen years old. Skirt, top, hair, make-up...was this really her?

"Uh, I'm 'bout to ask ya the same question," Shorty replied, scratching her head. "Hiro and I were supposed to...well, I just felt like visiting him today."

"Uh, well he's not feelin' well right now."

"Lemme guess...ya came over to take care of him, right?" Shorty frowned angrily. She tried to see past him. "Hiro?"

"Shorty...I'm really not feeling that great...later, kay?" the slightly accented voice drifted out.

"You're not going gay on me now, are you?" Shorty demanded, folding her arms. She sighed. "Dammit. Strike, you'd better not tell anyone...or I'll have my dad call you in..." She headed down the hall, her black boots clanking against the floor.

At that moment, Hiro rose and bolted to the doorway. "Sakuya?!" he asked breathlessly. Shorty turned. "After school tomorrow, kay? I'll be better then."

Shorty smiled, confused. "Uh...ok..." She continued walking. _We're the perfect couple...I know he loves me...but what is Strike doing in there? What's up with that? And why'd he call me by my real name?_

"Sakuya?" Strike asked, looking after the walking girl. "Don't tell me..."

Hiro had retreated back to his corner, where he crouched, grinning evilly. "Yep. I was lucky enough to find her in BAG. A coincidence, huh? She doesn't remember me. But I remember her. She thinks I _love_ her...I really don't, Strike...I'm just using her...but I did something bad to her, just like I promised....she's only thirteen...when I was thirteen, I was raped by all those snakes...I'm taking away her innocence..."

He was giggling madly. Strike sat in silence, eying his friend. He sighed. He crept over to Hiro and hugged him. "Damn...we both gots lotsa problems, man...me and you...?"

Hiro once again said nothing. The fact that he many suddenly go berserk scared the hell out of Strike.

"Yeah...that's true," Hiro muttered. He grinned. "So Strike...got anything else to tell me? Nothing would surprise me now."

Strike bowed his head and let his dreads fall over his eyes.

"As a matter of fact..."

TBC>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Note: So...uh, did you like it? I really didn't know where I was going with this fic!! I didn't know what to do with the characters!! I think maybe I made their personalities too harsh. It's tough for a fic like this....hope you thought it was good.

Stay tuned for Chapter 5!! Most likely, this fic will have two more chapters!! Keep reading!!!

BTW: The Italian and Spanish translations are from Altavista. They're not very accurate I don't even remember why I wanted them in there.

XOXO

Archie


	5. Take 5: Strings

Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.

Note: Hey you guys!! Wow, is going through some rough times, huh? Well, I hope you've enjoyed my fic so far. Here's Chapter 5!!

Shades

Take 5: Strings

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

The phone was ringing. Loud and merciless, threatening to smash his head into a million pieces.

Strike was sitting on Hiro's bed once again, watching TV. To his disgust, the rain had knocked out the TV's 1,000 channel feed, leaving the only network as KNTV—Kitty-N's channel.

Resolving he would rather watch his not-so-innocent girlfriend transform into a giant feline that sit around and watch Hiro, he stared mindlessly at the TV, his brain focusing on other things. He hadn't even noticed the phone ring, as loud as it was. Hiro sighed and picked it up.

"Hello? Oh, hey Commie," he greeted. Strike switched off the TV to stare at the receiver.

"Today? Isn't it kinda late?" Hiro communicated to the girl on the other end, glancing out the window. It was only 5:00; the sun was still out. Relatively early in Tokyo time. "Well, okay...nah, I'm feelin' fine...uh....Strike? I dunno where he is..." Strike sighed gratefully. "OK. Seven? Sounds good. See ya."

"What's up?" Strike inquired, sliding off the bed, gray kimono rustling after him. Why had Heat's little bitch called?

"Comet's organizing this big practice for the original groovers," Hiro explained, sitting down. "She wants us to start practicing regularly now...y'know...for BAG4."

"For real? Why'd she wanna see me?"

"She didn't wanna see you; Kitty wanted to see you. She was askin' where you were..."

"Damn!" Strike cursed. "I never wanna see dat slut again!" He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "I ain't goin'. I never wanna see any of those losers again."

Hiro sighed. "Well, if that's what you wanna do...I'm goin' though."

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. I told ya, it only happens sometimes. And it doesn't happen when I'm around people...but for some reason, it happened when I was around you..."

"You should be put away," Strike replied, his nastiness starting to flare up again.

"You should talk," Hiro retorted. He swiftly stood. "Come on, Strike. You can't just stay here the rest of your life. Own up to the fact that you tried to be with Heat. Maybe you could say you're sorry...?"

"Are you kiddin' me?! Say sorry after doin' a thing like that? You must still be nuts."

"What else can you do? I don't think Fireboy's gonna call the cops or anything..."

Strike said nothing.

Hiro went to his closet and pulled out an outfit fitted with paper, indicating it had just come from the cleaners. He quickly went into the bathroom while Strike brooded on the bed, thinking of all his possible decisions...

If he went, he would have to face Heat. _Hey, Fireboy's the kind to keep grudges, right? For once in my life, I'm ashamed of what I did...or tried to do... _

If he stayed, it would haunt him. _Hiro's right...I can't stay here all my life!! I feel so guilty, man... _

If he went, and Heat said nothing about it. _Forgive and forget, yeah, just like dat show Kitty used to watch...suppose that's the way it'll be?_

If he went, and Heat told everyone about it. _No one would ever trust me again..._

Hiro came out, looking like the Playboy Strike had always known him to be. He was wearing a new outfit; black velvet flares, with a blue silk disco shirt and a matching black velvet vest. The only thing that hadn't changed was his hair, which was still very spiky and modern-looking. "I ran outta hair gel," he explained.

"Shouldn't you be screaming and shouting?"

"I've done enough screaming and shouting this week," Hiro answered. "So, you're going?"

"Uh—"

Hiro was already fishing around in his closet, already back in his Playboy mode. "What're ya gonna wear? If I'm wearing something new, you should too...I'd be so humiliated if you weren't...ah, here. My hacker clothes."

Baggy dark blue parachutes and a long orange t-shirt were tossed into Strike's lap. "Whoa, you got normal clothes?!" Strike exclaimed, unbelieving. He had always thought Hiro was permanently stuck in the 70s. The last night had convinced him, though, that Hiro was far from dated.

Hiro smiled. "Ain't ya forgettin' that I break too? So do you, Strike."

"Oh yeah," Strike replied. He had forgotten that he and Hiro were considered the semi-b-boys of BAG; Heat, Gas-O, and Tsutomu being the real b-boys. He himself could do a few moves; still, Hiro knew a few more moves. "But no way am I puttin dis on! Who knows whatcha coulda been doing in it?"

"Yeah, I was doing something really dirty," Hiro agreed, sitting down on the bed. He was facing towards the window, looking at the red sky.

"So...are you planning to tell Shorty?"

"I don't know what to tell her."

"Tell her you don't really love her."

"It ain't that easy, ya know. She...she's too sweet...I could never tell her that."

"You gettin' shy again?"

"Nah, it's just...listen, don't tell Kitty I was the one who showed you her secret, kay? She'd kill me."

"How'd you find out about that?"

"News travels fast, Strike. Especially in my network."

Hiro turned impatiently towards Strike. "You dressed yet?"

Strike stood there, wearing the blue parachutes and orange top, his black dreads hanging limply down his back. "Yeah, I'm ready," he replied. "My shades, though."

Hiro reached for the glasses, which lay on the floor. Strike put them on, comforted to be masked once again. "OK, let's go."

The boys tramped down the flights of stairs, down to street level. They walked down the street, trying to remain unaware of all the heads they turned. Strike played it cool; he was used to being looked at. Hiro turned red and quickened his pace.

"Damn, Hiro, you're all over the place, y'know?" Strike commented as they passed the Disco Fashion, where only the night before he had fired his rifle, setting all the girls scrambling. Had it only been the night before? Or was it days? Or years?

"Sorry," Hiro replied, running his fingers through his hair. "You learned stuff about me, huh?"

"More than I wanted to know."

Hiro was silent for a while; he didn't want to say anything inappropriate.

They kept walking, down the street, up the street, to the left, to the right; on and on and on. Through the shadows and garbage cans, they kept their eyes on the ground, following their own feet. Walking and walking and walking until—

They stood at the foot of the tall yellow building. Its many windows gleamed in the afternoon sunlight; inside many of the familiar dancers could be spotted. Kelly, Gas-O, Frida...all could be seen performing their familiar moves, oblivious to the two boys watching them from down below.

"Hiro? Strike?" A soft voice asked. Strike turned to see Comet diminutively standing behind them. She was garbed in her revealing black bunny outfit, velvet jumpsuit and all. Her eyes sparkled seductively; her blue hair, combed and bobbed, curled up at the edges. On her head she donned a pair of bunny ears, making her look mature and innocent at the same time. She smiled at them. "Long time no see, guys."

Strike glared at her through her shades. Good thing she couldn't see his grey eyes sparking anger. His looks killed. Literally.

Hiro laughed. "Well whaddya know, a bunny for the Playboy." He went up to Comet and gave her a hug. Comet was one of the few women he could actually have a conversation with. "Commie!! I heard you and Heat are goin' out now?"

Comet smiled. "Yep. And guess what?!" She held out her hand. On her finger glistened a very beautiful, polished diamond ring.

"Whoa?! You guys are engaged?!" Hiro exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly. Strike turned his head very slowly to see the piece of jewelry Comet now owned.

"Yeah. He proposed to me today...he said something made him run out and buy it last night," Comet explained. "But we're still gonna wait a while. I'm only 17, y'know?" She grinned. "Everyone's inside, boys. Let's go."

She turned on her heels and skated gracefully inside, her white bunny tail wagging after her. Strike looked at her as she disappeared through the doors. He said nothing.

"Strike...you're not angry...are you?"

"Hembra," Strike muttered under his breath. He crossed his arms. "He was mine, dammit. I'll finda way ta get ridda dat bitch."

"And would Heat still have you if you did?"

Strike threw his hawklike glance to Hiro, who sighed.

"Now, Strike...don't...oh shit, just forget it. C'mon, let's go." He led the way towards the revolving door, trying to ignore the bad karma radiating from the dark presence which loomed behind him.

The lobby was still the same. Everywhere, the familiar BAG dancers lounged around, talking, laughing. Oblivious to the two boys who walked in, one scowling, the other trying not to scream. A pink swirl rushed up to Hiro and hugged him from behind. "Hey baby," Miss Pinky greeted, squeezing him.

"Ah! Pinky...don't do that! Ya scared me!" Hiro gasped, turning his head to see her. She was still the same...hot and sexy, the way she was supposed to be.

"Oh sorry," Pinky apologized.

"So," Hiro continued, lowering his voice. "About last night..."

"It was an easy job," Pinky whispered back. "He went down just like _that_." She snapped her fingers to demonstrate. "They have another job for us..."

Strike, seeing that his acquaintance was preoccupied, continued walking. He stopped short once he spotted Heat and Comet standing by the reception counter, laughing. Heat was wearing the same thing he had worn the night before. Strike would've thought that Heat would burn those clothes...after what almost happened in them.

Heat's brown eyes swept over Strike at that moment. He stopped laughing and looked gravely at the gangster standing there.

What emotion did they hold? Heat's mysterious eyes...it was hard to tell what they were thinking. "Hey Heat," Strike greeted blandly, coming up to them.

"Hey Strike," Heat answered, emotionless.

Comet either didn't notice or decided not to question. "Isn't it great that everybody could come?" she asked. "I know you two haven't seen each other for a while." Her eyes wandered to the door. "Oh, Kel!" she cried, breaking away from Heat and practically jumping over to the smiling Kelly, baton in hand.

Which left the two men alone. Despite the noise in the room, an uncomfortable silence seemed to invade the spot they stood on. Heat's piercing eyes penetrated Strike's shades—it was as if he could see through Strike, above him, under him, in him. Everything. Turn him inside out and examine his very conscience. His very soul. His—

"I...I..."

"No need for words," Heat interrupted, crossing his arms across his chest.

Strike looked down. What could he say? To a person he would've raped if he hadn't come to his senses. Apologize? No, that wouldn't fit. Act like nothing happened? That wouldn't fit either.

"I dunno what ta say, man," Strike admitted. "I just couldn't help it. I...dammit, Heat...I'm....I...uh..."

Heat didn't know what it was that made him do what he did next. If he had had his way, Strike would be lying dead on the floor, burned by the fireballs shooting out of his hand. But that wasn't what Heat did.

Maybe it was the desire to get the whole situation over with, to forget and never talk to Strike again.

Perhaps it was wish to be with Comet, not in the company of his would-be rapist.

Or maybe it was the cross that hung around his neck, which at that moment was gleaming with an emotion that has yet to be named by human kind.

"Frere...we make mistakes sometimes. Even me. Even you. But everyone keeps sayin' forgive and forget, like that show on TV, y'know? So..let's just do dat."

Strike blinked, not believing his ears. "H-Heat...are ya actually forgivin' me?"

Heat flashed a sad version of his usual winning grin. Sadness for the situation into which both found themselves thrust in. "Yeah, I guess so."

"But...why?"

"I dunno. I just don't feel like bein' angry at ya today, Strike," Heat answered. "It don't matter anymore."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness..."

Heat responded by snapping his fingers in front of Strike's face. "Yo! Are you really Strike? Or are you some kinda defective clone?" He put his hand on Strike's shoulder. "Listen...I love you too, alright? I mean, I love everybody in BAG...we all love each other, ya know? Anyways, you and I are still gonna be brothers, right? Nothing's changed."

"But...but..."

"I love ya, Strike," Heat whispered, giving Strike a wispy embrace. "Leave it at that. 'Cause I know ya love me too...but you have another."

With that he turned to join Comet, who was gaily chatting with Kelly and Tsutomu. Strike was left stunned.

_What da hell just happened? Did I deserve that? Did he need to do that? What...?_ Strike's head felt like it would explode. _I don't get it..._ He sighed. _Why did he do that? Makes me feel even lower than I do right now...but...another? Who? _

"Strrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkeeeeeyyyyyyy!!!"

_Oh shit. _

A girl in a catsuit bounded through the door and wrapped her arms around Strike, smothering him. She wore a strange pink and white suit, complete with a cat-eared helmet and luminous green hair.

The infamous Kitty-N. We've heard so much about you.

"Hey Strikey-poo! I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been?" she asked, her high-pitched voice annoying everyone in the room.

"Kitty..." Strike managed to break free of her sugary destructive embrace. "We need to talk..."

-

"Yeah, next week," Pinky finished, ending her description of the next job. She and Hiro were seated on the couch, discussing their business interactions.

"Sounds good," Hiro answered. "It'll be the most we've gotten for one job."

"Yeah! Isn't it great?" Pinky exclaimed. She smiled. "You and me have gone a long way, partner. Soon our business will be global."

"I'm not so sure about that," Hiro answered, grinning.

"Hey you guys," a very raspy, muffled voice greeted. Gas-O had just emerged from the elevator. The mohawked teenager approached the two.

"Hey Gassy," Pinky greeted, rising to give him a kiss on cheek.

"Yo Gas. What's up?" Hiro asked, giving him a slap on the back.

"Actually, Shorty is lookin' for you, Hiro. She's on the 17th floor right now," Gas-O replied matter-of-factly. "She asked me to tell you that she needed to see you."

"For real? Uh...okay," Hiro answered. _Hmmm...sounds interesting..._

He got up and went to the elevator, leaving Pinky and Gas-O to flirt mercilessly. Pushing the buttons...like pushing buttons on a keyboard...17th floor, please.

It seemed like a short time before the door opened. Hiro didn't even have time to think about why Shorty had wanted to see him. _She still upset about today? Aw, what am I gonna tell her?_

As soon as he stepped out, he was ambushed by a little girl wearing black capris, a long sleeved shirt, and hair done in tiny curls framed with ribbons. "Hiro-kun," Shorty whispered, giving him a hug. She looked so much younger and innocent in this stage—like the candy girl she really was.

"Hey Shorty-pie," Hiro answered, hugging her back. "Why are you all the way up here?"

"Uh...I wanna ask you something..." Shorty's voice trailed off. She looked down at the floor, her violet eyes strangely dull.

"...yeah?" Hiro asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. Shorty sighed.

"Do you love me?"

The question caught Hiro off guard. Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you?

_Huh? _

"It's just that...well, today...you were with Strike. And I was thinking...maybe you didn't wanna be with me anymore..."

_No!_ Hiro screamed his inside his mind. _Shorty...why do you have to ask me this now?!_

"Shorty-pie," he began, trying to mask his indecision. "I love you very much—"

"Liar!! Say what you're thinking!" Shorty demanded, her face scrunching up. Her violet eyes glittered and threatened to overflow with tears.

"Shorty...now come on," Hiro tried, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I..."

"Just tell me if you love me or not," Shorty answered. Her voice sounded hoarse; as if she was trying to be emotionless, but failed miserably.

"Shorty..." Hiro closed his eyes. Sweet, little Shorty...she was almost like a little sister to him. He cared for her and was concerned about her, but did he...?

_Still..._ He thought back to what he had told Strike. _I don't love her...I'm just using her..._ Was that really true? Had he been telling the truth? Was he just using her?

The obsession had he developed for her when she was just a little girl...in the asylum in Italy...what was that? Was that love? Or was that something else?

He pondered for a moment. What was love? Was it care? Was it friendliness? Was it affection? Trust? Obsession? Hate?

Who did he love?

She gave Shorty a tight squeeze. "How could you ever think I didn't love you?! Of course I do! How could I not?!"

Shorty's eyes glistened with fresh tears. "Do you really mean that?"

"You are the only reason I'm here. In Japan, right now. If not for you, I wouldn't have come here, I wouldn't have been in BAG, I wouldn't have learned disco...damn, kid, you're all I am."

"Huh?" She looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"All I wanna say is that I do love you, Shorty. Always. Even when I say I don't, even when I say other stuff, it's not true. Just remember that, kay?"

Shorty smiled through her tears. "I'm glad. I was beginning to think...that you didn't like me anymore."

_Is that the truth?_ Hiro thought to himself. _Yes, it is,_ his conscience answered. He sighed and smiled.

Hiro patted her on the back as she continued crying. Soon though, he couldn't help it; the two stood, sobbing, until both were pacified.

-

"Mrow!!?! Strikeypoo, what do you mean?!" Kitty's voice was filled with emotion.

"What I mean is that we're done. Through. Dat's it," Strike answered grimly, his grey eyes flashing under his shades. The two had moved to a room on the 2nd floor, to escape any prying ears that might hear their conversation.

"But why? What's wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough?" Kitty questioned, tears beginning to form.

"Nah. It's just dat...you're not my kind of girl," Strike answered, looking down at the ground. He didn't want to do this. Inside, there was still a tiny bit of affection left for the girl. She and him had done so many things together; they had laughed, they had smiled, they had made love. Maybe...maybe this was the wrong thing to do? Maybe he should forgive and forget, just like Heat said?

But...who was the another that Heat had been talking about?

It wasn't Kitty, that's for sure.

"Sorry Kitty. You shoulda thought about dat before," Strike answered, turning away. "It's better for both of us. You can do your thing, I can do mine."

"But Strikey!" Kitty begged. "I'll be good!! I think I know what you're talking about...and I'll stop that!! Honest! Just please...let me be your girlfriend still!"

Strike slowly walked out of the room, his dreads swinging against his back. He slowly walked down the hall. Into the elevator. Pushed the buttons for the roof.

He was gone. From her.

"You bastard!! You mother-fucking shithead!!" Kitty cursed, rising. She was left alone in the room, surrounded by mirrors. She could see every angle of herself—her beautiful, slim self, too pretty for any one. "I'll show you, Strike! I'm better off without you anyway! Cause I'm Love Love Miracle Kitty-N, solider of Love! I can do whatever I want, with whomever I want!! Do you hear that, Strike?! Strike!!"

She stopped and sighed, before collapsing onto the blue mats on the floor.

"Strike..."

TBC

Notes: Hmmm....I'm not sure about this chapter. While I was writing I was greatly distracted, so it might not have turned out as well as I wanted it to. Is it too nice? Too upbeat? You tell me, and I'll fix it, kay? Does anyone want more angst or shocking things? Review or e-mail me and I'll see if I can make it better. Chapter 6 is being added together with this, so go ahead


	6. Final Take: Ai

Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.

Notes: Well, here it is, peeps. The last chapter of Shades. Tell me if you like it, kay? It's actually pretty short.

SHADES

Final Take: Ai

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

"Strike?"

He sat on the roof, on one of the ugly steel slabs always found at the top of buildings in big cities.

"Strike."

His dreads swayed against the wind. It was night now; the lights of Tokyo had just turned themselves on.

"Strike..."

His dreads, clinging halfway down his back, swayed against the wind. He was silent as the wind swept over him.

"Strike!"

He felt sick to his stomach.

"Miguel-chan, you still upset?"

"The hell?" Strike burst, surprised. He hadn't noticed anyone calling his name.

Hiro, sighing, stood behind him. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Everybody's gone home already. We all practiced, but no one could find you."

"Good."

"...Kitty went home pretty early. I think she was crying."

"Good."

"I...I told Shorty I loved her."

"Good."

"And I really did mean it. I realized that...well, maybe we really were meant for each other."

Strike tipped his shades down to stare at Hiro. "Say what?" he asked. "So...you're not using her?"

Hiro quietly sat down next to him. "I hope not," he answered.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the dark streets light up down below. The sidewalks suddenly filled with people, heading out to the nightclubs and bars. Easygoing, no worries.

"I wish it was that way with us," Hiro commented sadly.

"Que?"

"Nevermind. It's nothing."

"Y'know, it's only been 24 hours since we began dis."

"Has it? Seems like much longer."

"Yeah..." Strike leaned back and looked up at the stars. They glistened and twinkled. So peaceful.

So full of shit.

"So...where are we gonna go from here?" Hiro inquired. "Are we gonna pretend nothin' happened? Are we just gonna go on like we used to?"

"Would ya want it ta be dat way?"

"I dunno."

Finding no reason to say anything else, Strike stretched himself out full length on top of the slab, finding it wide enough to accomodate him. Hiro stayed sitting, his eyes half-closed. The two sat quietly once more, Strike's mind ablaze.

_You have another._

What?

What did Fireboy mean?

Another...it couldn't be Kitty. She was long gone.

Any other person? Who the hell could that be?

And...

"Ya know...I was talking to Heat a few minutes ago," the brown-haired boy began. "He asked me to stay behind and look fer ya."

Strike promptly sat up.

"I don't think he's angry at ya anymore."

Strike inched towards Hiro keeping his eyes low.

"He told me ta tell ya that he'd talk to ya later."

Strike very slowly placed his arms around Hiro. Hiro reached for Strike's shades, which slipped off. Blue met grey; two versions of heaven met two versions of hell.

"He told me to tell ya," Hiro continued, in a whisper, "that you were lucky because you had 'another'."

"Another...?"

Their lips met. It was a deep, dark kiss. One that sent shivers up their spines, penetrating their souls. It lasted for years; it lasted for seconds.

"We can't be," Hiro whispered into Strike's ear. "I don't LOVE you."

"Are you so sure of that?" Strike answered, not wanting to let the moment go.

"I don't know..." _What about Shorty? Didn't you tell her you loved her? Now about this...goddammit, Hiro-kun, how do you get yourself into this?_

"I guess that's just da way it is, huh?" Strike said, bracing himself to accept the truth. "Yeah...I guess so." _You were refused twice, Strike. What now?_

Silence again. There's getting to be too much silence in this story.

Hiro, making up his mind, broke free of Strike's embrace. He rose and headed to the door. Strike looked after him, with neither sadness nor anger on his face.

Hiro turned the knob; but he couldn't open it. He couldn't bring himself to open it. He turned around.

"Strike... ancora en su per quel basamento di un-notte?"

Strike, surprised, stared at him. He smiled sadly. "Sí... definitivamente."

He got up and walked towards Hiro.

-

_Strike...you still up for that one-night stand?_

_Yeah...definitely. _

Owari

Notes: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I'm stuck in fanfiction hell, peeps!!! HELP ME!!!!

PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!! I know this chapter really sucked. It's the end too!!!


End file.
